Almost Idyllic
by graces-noteb0ok
Summary: Modern Captain Swan. Neighbours AU. Long Lost Friends AU. Crackling fires, hot chocolates, and flannel. A whole lot of flannel. Title from Sleeping At Last's song of the same name.


_It's been really cold here lately, "the coldest winter in 10 years", I believe the news said, but because this is Australia, no snow here, which sucks, cause I love snow. So I guess this was inspired by the cold, my wish for snow, and my favourite artist this winter, 'Sleeping At Last'. His "Atlas: Year One" album has become my lifes soundtrack._

 **Note: un-beta-ed. So all mistakes are my own.**

* * *

There was something comforting about worn jumpers. Sleeves long enough to cover shy, or freezing hands, like being wrapped up in safety, and warmth. She tugged on hers, an old habit, as she opened the door of her old, yellow bug. However faded it's paint, it was a stark contrast to the white world of snow, mountains, and forest, her maps, now folded on the cracked leather passenger seat, had led her to. It seemed an eternal chill was to be the price of this adventure.

Emma had never a fondness of people. She had been let down by them too many times, that trusting, yet alone acquaintant, relationships, were out of the question. So when she saw the listing for this little log cabin, an hour from the nearest town, and blissfully isolated, but one neighbour, she said "why not?", and called the realtor, who had seemed surprised that someone was actually interested in the place, but was all to happy to show her around. She then packed her few belongings into three boxes, and decided that after a lifetime of moving around, maybe this was where she would call home. What a foreign concept to her.

…

The heavy wooden door creaked upon turning the key in the lock, and pushing it open. The place was small, fairly old, but sturdy. There was a fireplace to the left, and a couch, and next to that, a coat stand and bookshelf. On the far wall, to the left, there was one of two wooden doors. She recalled from her tour with the realtor that it led to a small bathroom.

On her right was a simple kitchen, including an old stove, sink, and cupboard, and a small, snow frosted window, giving an obscured view of the wide, front clearing of the cabin. Again, on the far wall, but this time to the right, was the other wooden door, leading to the bedroom.

She pushed it open, and sat down her boxes on the bed. The previous owner had left her the furniture, wanting to purchase new stuff for their newly rented city apartment. That was fine by Emma. The bed seemed comfortable, and the couch, except for being a little old, was too. There was a large, narnia style wardrobe in the bedroom, which Emma would take a lifetime to fill, and a small lamp sitting upon the bedside table.

She pulled her blankets out of one of the boxes, the cream one with purple stitching around the outside, and her name embroidered in one corner. It was the only thing she had from her birth parents. And then the soft, green wool one she had purchased a few years ago, in the midst of the coldest winter she had ever experienced. She lay the cream one on the bed, and draped the green one over the back of the couch.

Upon looking out the frosted window, she discovered that the day was beginning to fade, and her thick jumper and coat were beginning to do little her keep her warm. She was dismayed to find that the rack next to the fireplace was empty of wood, and the small stove in the kitchen was out, too.

"Great", she thought to herself, pulled a grey beanie over her blonde curls, and ventured outside, into the forest.

Her feet crunched in the snow, as she trudged the icy path. Left, over the edge of her clearing, she could just make out her neighbor's cabin. A small log thing, much like hers, but theirs had smoke drifting from its chimney, and even from this distance, she could vaguely hear the lyrics of a song coming from the inside. Fantastic. Just when she thought she'd have peace out here, she finds out her neighbour's into loud music. And, god what was that… ugh, eighties music?

Emma wasn't a huge music person, but years ago, when she was about fifteen, for a few months at yet another school, the result of yet another foster home move, to Minnesota, she'd made this friend, Killian Jones. He was an Irish boy, with a beautiful accent and enchanting blue eyes, and the only kid in her class that didn't look at her like she was a kicked puppy, due to her no parents situation. He'd lost his mother when he was young, to illness, and his father had disappeared the second his older brother had turned eighteen. "Finally free of his children", Killian used to say.

He was the only person that Emma had ever met, and liked, with shared life experience. Or similar, to say the least. His older brother, Liam, had looked after him, of course, old enough to work, and study, but Killian helped where he could, busking on the main street of town at the weekends. His talent with a guitar, and Liam's job, brought in enough money to help pay the bills, and get the two of them by. Killian was Emma's first, and to be honest, only ever, best friend. He listened to her stories and rants of life in the foster system, learnt how she loved cinnamon on her hot chocolate, that her favourite fairytale was Snow White, and that she couldn't wait for the day she could call a place home.

He shared with her his love of music (even if half of it was songs he'd picked up from Liam's terrible 80's collection), spent afternoons teaching her songs on his guitar, ate bear claws whilst walking home together, and showed her countless constellations, sitting on the hood of his brothers car, wrapped in blankets, before her curfew came and he walked her home.

The day she left Storybrooke, was one of her worst. Leaving is never "clean"', but the day she walked out of school, and saw Regina Mills, her social services supervisor, standing on the curb, next to a white SUV, Emma's few belongings thrown in the back, was one she would never forget. And what's worse, is that she never even got the chance to say goodbye to Killian, she just dissapeared. And when she got placed with a new "family" a few weeks later, got hold of a phone, and called his house, he was gone too. His brother killed in a car accident, and Killian gone to live with distant relatives in Ireland. And just like everything else in her life, there was nothing she could do to help him, not even say goodbye.

…

Caught up in her thoughts, Emma hadn't even realised that she had arrived at the chopping block where the axe lay. And upon inspection, Emma realised that the previous owner may have left her many things, but that did not extend to a functioning axe. It's blade was dull and rusted, and it's handle, worn. Emma would hardly be able to chop a twig with it, yet alone enough for a decent fire.

The wind changed direction, biting at Emma's ears and nose, and admitting that she would rather play friendly neighbour, than freeze on her first night, she pulled her coat collar up to her cheeks, and trudged the few metres to her neighbor's cabin, the music now barely audible over the roar of the wind.

Emma climbed the steps of the neat porch. An old wooden bench seat sat next to the door, just under the cabin's window, and a pair of boots sat next to the mat. She raised her hand, and knocked, the sound barely heard over the wind, and, now soft, music. No answer. She tried again, harder.

The door creaked as it was pulled open, the cabin's inhabitant appearing, leaning against the frame. He was dressed in an old, blue, woolen jumper, and a pair of flannel pajama pants. His jaw was covered in a handsome amount of stubble, and the front of his dark hair, had fallen into his eyes. It wasn't until she looked up at his eyes, his brilliant, unforgettable blue eyes, that she realised, fate plays a wicked game indeed.

Killian looked different from the boy she knew at fifteen. Older, understandably, more muscular, and grown out of his skinny teenaged limbs. Curiosity took hold of his eyes, not yet realising who had stumbled upon his cabin this late during the day, new neighbour or otherwise. But there was a sadness there, too. And from Killian, that was new to Emma. She unfroze, recovering from her shock just enough to pull down the collar of her coat, so that her face was once again visible, and freed her blonde curls from the beanie.

"Emma!?" Killian stammered, surprised, finally realising exactly who it was, standing on his porch, at the brink of the oncoming dusk. He pushed off the frame of the doorway, and took a step towards her.

"Killian!" Emma smiled, shock still grasping at her, "So it takes me moving to the middle-freaking-nowhere to find you again, huh?" she laughed.

"W-what are you doing here?" He grinned. That beautiful, devilish grin that hadn't changed in twelve years.

"I bought the cabin over the other side of the clearing," Emma shrugged, "Thought it might make make good for a new start".

As he listened, Killian's smile softened, his initial shock fading, and some of that sadness Emma first saw, beginning to sneak back through.

"Well, come on in Swan," he said, stepping out of the doorway, and motioning with his head, towards the inside of the fire-lit cabin, "wouldn't want a lass to freeze now, would we?" he joked. Emma smiled, and obliged, slipping off her boats, and snow soaked coat, as she did so.

His cabin was nearly identical to hers, except that the fireplace was roaring, crackling, and cosy, filling the cabin with light and heat, and also that it was full of books. And by full she meant neat little stacks on the table next to the couch, two shelves stacked neatly, 10 different ways, to occupy them all, three sitting on the kitchen table, amongst dented enamel mugs, just books everywhere. "Old habits die hard," she thought to herself, remembering fondly the nerdy fifteen year old boy, with a love of stories and adventure, his favourite being Peter Pan, under the conviction that Captain Hook was just misunderstood, and Pan was a pain in the arse.

"Take a seat, I'll grab you a drink." Killian motioned to the couch. Usually, Emma would decline, not wanting to make any extra mess, or fuss, but she was frozen solid, and her hands were stiff, so she sat on the couch, and soaked in the warmth of the flames. It had been a long day.

"You remembered." She smiled in disbelief, as he handed her the mug filled with hot chocolate, cinnamon sprinkled on top.

"How could I forget?" He smiled back, turning off the stereo, and falling down next to her on the couch, his own mug in hand, grabbing the blanket that lay over the back, and wrapping it around Emma's shoulders. She felt heat rising in her cheeks as she gave him a small smile of thanks. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the hissing and popping of the fire.

"So Swan, what brings you here at this hour?" He looked at her over the rim of his mug, taking a tentative sip of his drink, in an effort not to burn his mouth with the hot liquid. All the while, she marvelled at just how much he had changed, and then, not at all.

"I'm actually out of wood, and I didn't want to freeze on my first night here," she sighed contently, feeling warm, and as though she hadn't lost the man beside her for the past twelve years, "so I was hoping my new neighbour could give me some? At least until I get into town to buy a new axe. The one I found out on the block has seen better days".

"Haven't we all, love." he sighed, barely audible. Emma wasn't even sure if he'd meant to say it, but then he turned to her, an entertainers smile on his face telling her, that now was not the time. "I've got a small cart, 'round back, that you can fill with as much as you need to take home. I'll cut some more tomorrow".

"Thanks, Killian," Emma smiled, "and it's fine, you don't need to cut anymore. I have to go into town tomorrow anyway for a few things. So I'll grab an axe and replenish your supply."

"Emma." Killian stared at her for a moment, and then shook his head softly, and smiled, "you don't have to do that. Really. Just take the wood. I have more than enough."

It was a moment before she smiled softly, and mumbled an, "Okay," defeated. She placed her, now empty, mug on the side table, and curled her toes under the blanket. "So, what have I missed in the world of Killian Jones?"

…

And just like that, they fell back into that easy and carefree relationship Emma had known when they were fifteen. Sure, they were both a little guarded towards certain subjects, and there were dark shadows in both of their pasts, but broken people tend to listen to one another's stories. They sat by his fire for hours that night. Killian telling her of his brother, the move back to Ireland, his decision to join the Navy at seventeen, his transfer back to the States, and his eventual "retirement" to here, a small cabin on the outskirts of Storybrooke, Maine.

Emma told him of the day she left Minnesota, how all she wanted to do was see him again, and the number of times she called, with no luck. How she continued to move around for a few more years, until at seventeen, she ran. Ran away from her newest foster home, and nobody even cared enough to come looking for her. At that Killian grabbed her hand, and began rubbing circles at the base of her thumb. He was good like that, knowing that what Emma understood most, were actions.

She told him about the people that broke her heart, the opportunity to work as a bail bondsperson, her success in that career, but the loneliness it brought, constantly moving and pretending to be someone else, and her need to find somewhere to call home.

It was dark by the time Emma left his cabin that night, Killian joining her on the short walk back to her own, cart of wood in tow. Like old times. He lingered on her porch for a moment, a step's distance from her, with turmoil in his eyes. Deciding better of it, however, he bid her goodnight, and turned back out into the cold, dark night.

…

She reappeared at his door the next day, the early morning chill still at hold of the air. Her roof was leaking in one corner, and she needed help to fix it. He welcomed her with bed tangled hair, and a sleepy smile, any hint of last night's sadness, gone. "Swan?"

"Sorry! I didn't mean to wake you!" She announced, just realising that the sun had barely risen over the tops of the snow covered mountains.

"None the matter," he sighed, happily, "What's up?"

"Erh, my roof is leaking? And, I need your help to fix it?" She rubbed her hands together in the cold air, wishing she'd have thought to pull on gloves before walking here. "I mean, I would do it myself, but I have no idea how to fix a roof, and I -, I kinda -, it's not like I can access Google out here, you know? So I just figur-"

"Sure, love," he laughed, interrupting her rambling, "Just give me a minute. I'll pull on something warmer, and grab my tools. You hungry?"

"I came here demanding your help, and you want to feed me breakfast?" Emma laughed.

"One shouldn't always eat alone, Swan," he smiled, and walked inside to change. He cooked them pancakes, with butter and maple syrup. She helped to wash up. No one had cooked her breakfast, in… she couldn't even remember. But it was nice. She felt full, content, happy.

"Well, the roof's not going to fix itself, Love," Killian sighed, and together they braved the snow and the wind, and spent the day repairing her roof.

…

They spoke often, after that. Constant visitors to each others places, however, Emma more at his than anything else. It just felt warmer, stable, more like a home than her near bare cabin. They chopped wood together, after a trip to town for an for an axe for Emma, and other supplies. They made minor repairs to Emma's place. He showed her the large, frozen, lake one late afternoon, a half an hours walk from their cabins. The sun reflected off it's surface, and she grimaced as she watched him step tentatively onto the ice.

"Come on Swan!" he laughed, reaching for her hand, and she followed him. She'd never ice skated before, and spent more time lying flat on her back, than standing, but the cold ice was actually comforting, in the day's dying rays of the sun.

The sky soon turned black, and they made their way back home, Killian pointing out constellations as they walked. They were so much clearer out here then she remembered them being in Minnesota. Then again. Everything was. She could feel the pull of her "lost girl" instincts fading. She was beginning to trust again. She was starting to feel the warmth of happiness, for maybe the first time. And when Killian reached for her hand, and she felt the spark and fire in his touch, saw the wistful hope in his brilliant, blue eyes, she wondered whether she was feeling love for the first time, too.

...

It was on a particularly cold night that she found the bottle of rum in the back of her kitchen cupboard. Pulling on a coat over her pyjamas, she battled the wind and cold as she trekked for the… she'd actually lost count how many times, to Killian's. By the time she reached his porch, she was soaked. Not bothering to knock, knowing that it wouldn't be heard above this wind anyway, she let herself in.

He wasn't surprised to see her, sitting on his couch in front of a roaring fire, guitar in his hands. He placed it down, and walked to her. "You're frozen!" he exclaimed.

"But I come bearing gifts," she smiled, holding up the bottle of rum, shivering.

"Come on love," he sighed, taking the bottle, and placing it on the table, "let's get something warm for you to wear."

When she emerged from his room, wearing a pair of his flannel pants, three sizes too big for her, a pair of thick, grey socks, and one of his old, woolen jumpers, she found him in the kitchen, pulling two enamel mugs from the cupboard.

"So Swan," he grinned, pouring rum into the mugs, "to what are we toasting this evening?"

"I haven't decided yet," Emma smirked.

"Well how about us, then? Long lost friends?"

"Reunited friends." Emma corrected him.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way" Killian sighed, as they clinked their mugs together.

…

He was warm. She fell towards him, sitting on the couch, as she felt the rum warming her cheeks, her bones, her heart.

She made him laugh. The last of that sadness finally disappearing from his eyes.

And so when the fire became quieter, and the wind became impossibly louder, and the room became still, she held his gaze with her own, and it was all too easy to close what little space lay between them, and capture his lips with hers.

"Emma," he exhaled, still moving against her mouth. She shifted so that her legs rested either side of his thighs, and her hips pressed into his. "Emma, what-"

"Shhh." She sighed, pulling away from him just a fraction. "Are you- just… are you okay with this?" she shifted, unsure now, of whether he was ready for this or not. And it wasn't just this moment, either. They both knew that. The two broken children had been searching their whole lives for a place to call home. And maybe now they'd found one. She knew she had, and for a while now if she were to admit it. It had taken a move to the middle of nowhere, countless days of harsh winds, and chilled bones, roaring fires, and gentle touches, for her to finally see it. The lost girl had found her way home at last, even if it wasn't a place, but a person. Her feet slipped on the wooden floor, in Killian's soft socks, as she waited for his reply.

"Emma. I've loved you for a while now. Probably since the beginning, if I'm to be honest," he rested his forehead against her own, calloused fingers trailing the warm skin beneath her (his) jumper, "before the world broke our souls ten ways to Sunday".

He's the one to lean forward this time, tangling her blonde curls through his fingers, and gently taking her bottom lip between his teeth. They separate again for a moment, so that he can pull her jumper free from over her, and she studies his face, red-orange in the embery glow of the fire, before running her fingers through the hair at the base of his head, and they mend each other at last.

…

Afterwards, when her blood runs listlessly through her veins, and she lies with his arm around her waist, pressed together closely on the small couch, she can feel her eyelids grow heavy, feel the press of Killian's soft kisses against her shoulder, her neck, as they fall asleep together, hear soft thuds of rain on the roof, and decide that this evening, when they'd toasted to them, they were really toasting their last, new beginning.

…

The steam from her hot chocolate curled and shifted in the cold morning air, as she watched the sun rising in the east, washing the sky in a thousand soft colours.

She gave up on her cabin. The realtor hid the fact that it was mostly falling down, when she bought it, and having no experience with infrastructure at all, Emma hadn't spotted the near bursting pipes, worn roof, brittle windows, and stressed floor. It may have been an inexpensive buy, but it was going to cost a whole lot more to make it inhabitable again. It was okay. Even if it hadn't become Emma's home, it had lead her to one. The wooden door creaked as Killian pulled it open, blanket in one hand, and coffee in the other.

"Thought you might like this, Love," he smiled, and draped her pale green blanket over her shoulders. She smiled and nestled into him as they sat on the bench, on his (their) porch.

"So, what are we doing today Swan?" Killian smirked, as he took a mouthful of his coffee.

"I don't know. But I'm sure we'll figure something out," she exhaled, smiling back at him. And she knew, that whatever adventure unfolded; today, tomorrow, and everyday after, that they would face it as they always would from now on.

Together.

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...

I haven't written anything in ages, and never anything this long! So I hope you liked it! Thanks for reading :) Favs and Reviews are always welcome, and make me smile! :)


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